In the Closet
by Angela Pirate Ryoko
Summary: Eiji finds Ash snooping around in his darkroom, and the two can't resist taking advantage of the privacy and close quarters. AshxEiji


In the Closet

by Angela

10-30-06

In some part of my mind, I must've heard the water running. It was the kind of thing that would've never gotten by me in the past, but it seemed that my senses were getting dulled by complacency. I didn't notice the sound until the faucet turned off. It bugged me, but not as much as it should've – I knew I let my guard down too much there, but I just didn't know what to do about it.

"I am going to shower now," Eiji announced as he came in from the kitchen. He wiped his hands on his jeans, and I noticed the damp hand prints left on the faded denim.

I glanced at the clock, surprised that twenty minutes had gone by already. "Did you do the dishes by yourself?" I asked, sliding a slip of paper into the my book and resting it on the arm of the couch. "I was going to help."

He made a face. "I called but you were reading and didn't hear," he said with a mock scowl. "I think this is a way to ignore me?"

"Think of it as punishment for dinner," I teased. He served me some kind of fish soup – I half expected to find something still alive beneath the murky broth. I dutifully choked it down, but I still had doubts about whether or not it qualified as food in America.

Eiji looked outraged. "Then tomorrow, you cook," he said flippantly, turning on his heel and stalking off toward the bedroom.

I laughed to myself as I watched him go, knowing that there would be no hard feelings by the time he came back from his shower. It was what our friendship had fallen into, this teasing pattern of slights and forgiveness. Ever since I got back from my stint in that bogus mental health facility I started staying home most nights - that did wonders for us. We hadn't argued once since I came home.

But that night I had an urge, one that might get me in trouble if Eiji found out. I waited for the crash of running water to switch to the lighter cascade of the shower. Once I was sure he wouldn't be out any time soon, I hurried into the office. Other then me and Eiji, no one came in here. It was kind of a sacred space for us – for me because it was the home for my very precious computer, and for Eiji because he'd converted the closet/laundry room into his darkroom.

He claimed it as soon as we moved in, refusing to let anyone hang clothes or put away boots or do any of the other things a person logically did in a closet. Even laundry was off limits, which was fine with me. If he wanted to be the designated handler of stinky socks and underwear, so be it.

Eiji had covered the one small window with black construction paper and dragged in a table from the entryway – a work of excellent Edwardian craftsmanship, if I guessed right, though Eiji evidently had no respect for antiques – and used it to hold shallow plastic tubs with handwritten labels. I couldn't read the labels – they were in kanji – but I imagined they said things like "developer" or "fix" or "rinse." He strung a clothesline twice across the ceiling, hanging empty clothespins to mark space, "so I know how many pictures I can make at one time," he explained when I asked. He changed the brilliant white bulb of the overhead light for a red one and clipped a plastic cartoon character to its chain. The counter around the room's small sink was soon cluttered with some kind of imaging machine and half-empty jugs of sharp-smelling chemicals.

He showed me this darkroom once, not realizing that I asked about it just to make conversation. I didn't even step in; though the walk-in closet seemed pretty big at first, with all of his stuff in it it was just large enough for him and a guest, assuming the guest stood fairly still against a wall while Eiji worked. I barely paid attention to him as he explained how he could change a roll of film into glossy black-and-white photographs; I was preoccupied with my plan, obsessed with my opponent. I only let him ramble on to humor him, to remind him that I hadn't forgotten him, when in reality I almost had.

Eiji must've noticed my lack of attention; he never let me in that darkroom again. When I walked nearby he'd always close the door, emphatically from inside or with a casual kick when he was out in the office. I tried asking about the whole process again, but he claimed I was "too busy with real work" to be bothered with the details. So the darkroom had been off limits since, though we were as close as ever in any other room of the house.

It made me curious.

Confident that he wouldn't cut his shower short to check on the drying process of any new prints, I opened the door and slipped inside. I groped in the darkness in front of me for the pull-chain that would turn on the light. The plastic toy hit me in the forehead as I fumbled, but I managed it eventually. The tiny room was suddenly bathed in warm red light. I blinked; in that strange glow, the place looked like it came from another world.

Faces stared out at me from space – it took me a moment to realize that they were prints suspended from Eiji's clothesline. It took another moment for me to recognize my gang. They were informal portraits, usually of two or three boys at a time. What struck me as strange was the way they looked at the camera, happy in a way I didn't think I'd ever seen before. From the nearest picture, Alex and his little cousin smiled out at me, both of them looking years younger than I'd ever seen them. Bones offered up his broken grin in another photo, holding up an apple with the evidence of his pathetic attempts to bite down all over its shiny skin.

It was like an alternate universe and I took a long minute to get my bearings. In my world, these guys were all street-hardened tough guys who barely had the inclination to crack a sarcastic joke, much less ham it up for a photographer. I wondered what Eiji did, what he must've said to make them relax like this. It seemed he worked his magic with just about everyone. Not just me.

Toward the end of the long rope of pictures I found one of myself. I pulled it off its clothespin, amazed. I didn't remember him taking it – I was curled up on the sofa, reading a novel. Somehow he caught me glancing over the top of the book, smirking at him with my eyebrows raised. I wondered what he had said to get that look from me. I hadn't seen too many pictures of myself, but I had the idea that my eyes didn't shine like that for just anyone.

No one made me react the way Eiji did. Even after all those months, I wasn't frustrated with his constant, hovering presence. I'd gotten used to it. I expected it. I needed it. I found lately that every action I took, every step in my winding process of revenge was shaped and molded by its possible effect on Eiji. I even went out of my way to see Max away from Ibé just so I didn't have to be reminded of the looming and inescapable fact that my life would have to continue without him.

Ibé was going to take him home one day. Nothing put me in a bad mood faster than that thought, and I'd never been jealous of anyone in my life.

I studied the photograph in my hands and was inexplicably proud of how good it looked. Eiji's composition was flawless and the lighting gave everything – the couch, the coffee table, even the pages of my book – a soft, almost glowing effect. And I looked happy. My heart constricted as I realized how much I would've liked to send this kind of picture to Griff, once upon a time. He always saw through my falsely cheerful letters; I would've liked to show him that sometimes I could smile for real.

I was mulling over the impossibility of that when the door opened.

At first the light blinded me. His shape eclipsed the bright doorway; resplendent sunlight from the uncovered windows behind him radiated like a dazzling halo around him. My breath caught in my throat and I squinted to see.

I hadn't even noticed the shower turn off.

"Why are you here?" His voice was husky with surprise.

I didn't have an answer. Perverse curiosity wouldn't win me any points with Eiji, after all. I shrugged, aware of the photograph in my hand. I felt like I'd been caught stealing or something.

He closed the door and my eyes adjusted once more to the eerie glow of red light. He was damp. More than that. He was soaking wet. Wearing only a pair of jeans, his body glistened with the sheen of water. Even his hair was plastered to his head, dripping heavy rivulets down his neck and shoulders. In his hurry to be there, in that claustrophobic little closet, he'd ignored the entire process of drying himself after his shower. I wondered why. I couldn't look away.

"I thought you were still in the shower," I said. It made me look even more guilty, as though I'd deliberately waited for him to be occupied before breaking into his sanctuary. Which I had.

"I thought I forgot something in the rinse," he explained, his brow creased with puzzlement as he looked into the empty basin of liquid. "But why are you in here?" He plucked the picture from my unresisting fingers. "This is not a place that you are interested in."

He turned his back to me and shoved my photo into the center of a stack of other photographs piled on the washer. For a moment, I missed it, wondering how long it would take to sort through them all to find it again. But then I took a look at the muscular curves of his back, at the way the long column of his spine disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. My mouth suddenly went dry and I couldn't seem to focus on the fact that he was probably pissed at me. With good reason. "I'm interested," I choked out.

He _tutted_ beneath his breath, obviously disbelieving.

"I am," I protested, taking a step nearer and almost regretting it. The scent of soap on his skin was dizzying in such a close space.

He looked at me, his mouth twisted in suspicious uncertainty. "I have no good photos of Papa Dino's henchmen," he warned. I momentarily wondered where he learned the word "henchmen." He probably watched a lot of television when I wasn't there.

I shook my head. "That doesn't matter," I hurried to explain. "These," I swept my hand across the gallery of portraits that hung just over our heads. "These are amazing. Ibé should be _your _assistant." The words tumbled from my mouth like water from a faucet and I barely recognized the worshipful enthusiasm in my tone. But it was all true. I thought he was incredible.

Eiji laughed, his suspicion eased with flattery. "Ibé-san would not be happy to hear that," he disagreed. "These are not important work," he said, almost apologetically. "The guys – they ask me for pictures. And I like to take them. But I am certain Ibé-san would find flaws and make me work harder."

I shook my head. "You work harder than anyone I know," I said, my throat tight and voice unnaturally soft. I was startled again by the emotion that seeped out through my words, uncomfortable by my own unwilling honesty.

Eiji blushed. Even beneath the dulling glow of the red lamp, I could see the color in his cheeks. "You say that only because you sleep all day and do not see me sitting in front of TV." He reached up and started taking down the pinned-up photographs.

I tried to help, reaching past him and accidentally bumping his elbow. The prints fluttered to the floor. I knelt to scoop them up. "My fault. I'm sorry." I was actually grateful for the task. In the tiny room, I was too aware of his body only inches away from mine. He smelled like herbal shampoo, and I wildly imagined him beneath a stream of hot water, his hands in his sudsy hair, rinsing off.

But this was exactly the kind of thing I couldn't allow myself to think. As it was, my brain was furiously delivering thoughts of dampness and skin and fast, hard sex beneath the red glow of the lamp; even looking at Eiji was difficult. "I'm sorry," I said again, not knowing quite what I was apologizing for that time.

"It's okay," Eiji replied, his voice strange and far away. I glanced up and saw that he was looking at me strangely. When he caught me watching, he knelt on the floor next to me, reaching for the pictures I'd not yet collected. For the first time in my life, I noticed how beautifully a man's forearms could taper into wrists, and I closed my eyes. This was too much to handle. I needed to shut down this train of thought entirely. It wasn't a new struggle for me; at least once each day Eiji did or said something that turned me on, but usually I did a better job of turning myself off again.

It wasn't that I didn't want to sleep with Eiji – obviously the idea had situated itself pretty solidly in my mind – but I didn't _want to_ want to. There were at least a dozen reasons why it was a bad idea. Even though I promised not to try to send him back to Japan anymore, I knew he couldn't stay forever. He was going to leave me someday. Maybe someday soon. And if we ever came out and admitted what we were to each other, expressed how we felt in words or actions, wouldn't it be that much harder to say goodbye? On top of everything, I was pretty sure Eiji was still a virgin. Hardly one to mess around casually.

I closed my eyes when I realized that I was still fooling myself. As if anything between the two of us could ever be just casual.

"It's a shame you can't take any pictures of yourself," I managed to say, trying to keep my voice light. I hoped that a conversation about photography might keep my mind away from what I wanted to do with Eiji. What I _always _wanted to do with Eiji. "Ibé says you're really photogenic. I'll bet they would be good." In an attempt at forcing myself to believe I was at ease, I risked a look at him.

He was watching me again, that same strange expression on his face. He blushed. "There – there is a way," he stammered. "But I do not need photographs of myself. I can look in a mirror to know what I look like."

I'd always wanted a picture of Eiji. Something to keep even after – after everything. "It's not about seeing yourself," I protested. "It's more about preserving a memory, so you won't forget the time you spent doing things with friends." Once, when we were fourteen, Nadia took a picture of Shorter and me. It was my favorite thing for a long time, until one of Dino's maids did the laundry without sorting through the pockets. I wanted something like that with Eiji. Something to look at, to make me feel better when life went to shit.

Eiji looked uncertain. "Then a picture of just me would not work," he said slowly. "I would need to take one of us both. But if you do not want that," he amended in a rush, "then it is okay. I remember well enough without. My memories of you are precious to me."

My heart jumped in my chest. Every once in a while Eiji was almost a bit too honest. It always made me feel like I wasn't honest enough. "That's why we should have a picture," I insisted, handing him the stack of photos with shaking hands. "To keep our . . . precious memories clear." He sucked in his breath sharply, releasing it in almost a sigh against my cheek, and I wondered if the whole world wouldn't benefit from feeling the way I did right then, when I really knew that our feelings were mutual.

"Where?" he asked.

Alex was bringing some of the guys over for a strategy meeting, and the last thing I wanted was to be interrupted. I doubted there was any way to explain to the gang that we were trying to preserve a memory, that this little photography session was more important right then than defeating Dino or finding out about banana fish. Besides, if Alex broke it up, we might not get another chance. But everyone knew that the darkroom was off limits – they'd never look for me here. "Here is good," I suggested. "It's not too dark, is it?"

"I can use a flash, but they will not be very good," Eiji explained in a hesitant voice. "It will look like they are from a photo booth at the mall."

"I like photo booths." I'd never actually used one – until Eiji showed up and started waving his camera around I tended to associate photography with porn – but once some of the guys spent an afternoon goofing off in one and brought back the pictures. It looked like fun. And even if the pictures turned out terribly, this would be another day with Eiji to look back on someday. And as corny as it sounded when I said it out loud, these stolen moments with him _were _precious to me.

As Eiji struggled with the stiff tripod, I slid past him. "Is the wall a good enough backdrop?" I asked, rummaging through the dryer for a sheet or blanket. "I can find some kind of curtain or something to hang up." He turned to get the camera from the shelf at the same time I yanked a grey sheet from the tangle of bedding and I knocked into him. He wobbled against the empty tripod and it crashed to the floor.

"Do what you want," he scolded. "Just stop moving!" He swatted at me as I squeezed past him again. "There is not enough room to run around."

Moving as little as possible, I managed to drape the bed sheet over the clothesline. Eiji grabbed the stool from the corner and positioned it in front. "Come here," he barked. I obeyed, trying not to smile; sometimes he was cute when he bossed me around. He hopped up on the stool and pulled me by the sleeve of my t-shirt until I stood just where he wanted me. Then he jumped back down and checked the camera's viewfinder.

"Wait!" I said suddenly. "We don't match." Eiji's chest, though finally dry, was still naked. His skin looked fantastic. I pulled my own shirt off and tossed it onto the floor by the door. "Better now, go ahead."

Eiji blushed. "That is not important," he protested softly.

"Sure it is." I didn't want him to feel self conscious when he developed those pictures. Besides, what didn't kill you made you stronger, and I was in a crazy enough mood to want to torment myself with bare skin next to bare skin.

He pressed a button and a little red light on the camera began to flash. Eiji hurried back into place. His shoulder pressed against my arm and I immediately regretted my hasty decision to get rid of the shirt. His skin was hot, and it made me hot. Too hot.

The camera's flash went off and I was positive that I looked uncomfortably horny. "I was making a weird face," I complained.

Eiji grinned. "Camera will take a picture every thirty seconds until I turn it off," he said. "So smile this time."

I draped my arm around Eiji's shoulders. We'd stood like that a thousand times before, but never shirtless, and I hadn't anticipated the difference. What was usually a comfortable way to express easy affection and friendship was suddenly surprisingly intimate. The muscles in Eiji's shoulders tensed and I felt his spine stiffen. Every nerve in my arm came to life and I wondered if it wasn't too late to let go.

_Click. _The flash brightened the room and the shutter zipped open and then closed again.

"It was no good," Eiji complained grumpily, wiggling out from under my arm. "Maybe you are standing too close."

"Maybe your hair's a wreck," I countered. His hair, though still wet, was starting to return to its normal buoyant state. Somehow parts of it were standing up in different directions while other sections lay flat. I ran my hand through the damp mess, hoping to tame it. It was much thicker than I expected, and I blinked stupidly when the sweet scent of his shampoo wafted around us.

"Let me," Eiji protested in a strained voice. He reached up to stop me, a dismayed expression on his face. His fingers curled around my wrist and a shiver of awareness ran through my whole body. He was so close. We both froze.

"Eiji," I whispered, almost against my will. Everything I was trying not to think about rushed back into my mind. What dangerous game were we playing anyway, with this romping half naked in the dark privacy of the closet?

He looked up at me, and it occurred to me that he must've felt it too – his lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. He looked helpless and besotted and the perfect mirror of everything I was feeling.

The camera flashed for the third time, but that time, neither of us moved.

"Why is it always like this?" he asked quietly.

"Like what?" My voice sounded low and raspy. Although I knew exactly what he was talking about, I wanted to hear it said; I wanted words to assign to this feeling. Words we were allowed say out loud.

"This," Eiji said faintly, his hand dropping from my wrist to fall into his lap. His eyes wouldn't leave mine. "Always this . . . wanting."

My breath escaped in a ragged sigh, fluttering the edges of his drying hair. "Wanting," I repeated. It wasn't a question. Rather, it was a confirmation – a label to attach to something that was quickly becoming too big for either of us to contain. Hearing Eiji's soft, accented voice say it made me weak.

The flash cut once more through the red-tinged darkness, but that time I barely registered it. My hand was still tangled in Eiji's thick hair, so I slid it back to cup his neck where damp hair touched skin. It was as though I'd been granted permission, as if our mutual acknowledgment of this feeling gave me the right to do what I'd only fantasized before.

He blinked and leaned back into my palm. "I've never," he said, faltering as his eyes flickered momentarily closed. "I've never wanted such things . . . so intensely."

I understood. We were both guys. Both young. We knew all about wanting. But this was different – this longing came in heavy waves that crashed but never retreated. I wanted to agree, to say anything that would erase the look of shy distress from Eiji's face, but my words were gone.

"It's okay," I said finally, surprised when it came out sounding like a question.

Eiji nodded, his sooty eyelashes already falling closed.

My breath caught as I leaned down to catch those lips that fascinated me for so long. They were soft and pliant beneath mine and I forgot all the dozens of reasons why not. His mouth parted and his tongue moved cautiously across mine. I could feel his hands trembling as they slid around my waist. I moaned softly against his lips; this was the very thing I wanted most – Eiji's hands on my bare skin, his mouth promising without words that he would be mine.

I pressed my palm onto his lower back, skimming my fingers beneath the worn edge of his jeans. He made a noise like a whimper. The sound excited me. I tried it again, this time plunging two fingers lower to brush across the swell of his buttocks.

Eiji, pulled back, looking at me with wide, wild eyes. His cheeks were flushed and his mouth wet. He was still perched on the edge of the stool, and he spread his knees and pulled me between them. His hands on my waist were hot and firm, pressing me tightly against him until I was aware of the hard pressure of his arousal through the denim against my stomach. I thought I might die.

"I have had dreams like this," he confessed softly, his voice contradicting the forceful way he moved me. "But we are awake?"

It seemed unreal, maybe like a dream. So many times I thought I'd given in before, thought I was really touching him before I woke up, alone in our room and feeling empty from another erotic dream. But this time I could taste him in my mouth, feel the soft cotton edges of the pockets of his jeans. He smelled like Eiji. "We're awake," I confirmed, hoping with all my being that I was right.

"Then promise me, Ash," he murmured, bending his face to my neck, his mouth kissing damp spots onto my skin. I knew I'd give him the world if he asked. "Promise me that you won't hate this tomorrow."

As if I could. I'd already spent too long fighting this, hating myself for feeling this way about someone with so little experience, so little knowledge of what he was falling into with me. Everything about me was bad news for Eiji – he'd stuck by me long enough to figure that out and more – and yet there he was, his fingers twisted in the belt loop at the back of my jeans, his mouth on my throat, my collarbone. So much to marvel at; there was no room in me for hate anymore. "Hate?" I whispered incredulously into his ear. "I've spent the past year longing for you."

A relieved sigh escaped his lips, warm and then instantly cool against my skin. I wondered how I got to be so harsh, so abrasive that Eiji was worried about something like that. It made me feel bad, as though there was something wrong in the way I'd dealt with him before then. I moved one hand back to his hair, petting gently and letting my fingers trail down his neck, following the curve of his spine. "I'm sorry," I whispered – it was almost just a thought, barely audible even at such close range.

I pulled him off of the stool, then was surprised and delighted when, rather than standing up, he wrapped his legs around my hips. Knocked off balance, I stumbled against the wall. The stool fell with a clatter onto the concrete and the billowing sheet was caught beneath us and tumbled off the clothesline and over our shoulders.

Eiji lunged, catching the wall with his hand and quickly steadying his feet beneath him. "Ah, sorry!" he cried. I laughed and pivoted so that he was pressed between me and the wall. We kissed again, this time relying on the support of the sturdy bricks. My knees were weak and I wasn't sure how much longer I could stay on my feet without leaning.

For a long time we stayed like that, our hands and lips exploring. It was strange, making out like that. It was what normal kids did, I guessed, but I'd never done it before, and I was amazed to discover how good it felt just to touch and kiss. Eiji left hickeys all over my throat and chest, and once or twice his hand moved into my jeans, teasing me with gentle touches and skimming fingertips. He made soft noises and murmured words in both English and Japanese. I touched him everywhere, slid my worshipful hands across his chest and down his legs before dropping to my knees in front of him.

He made a noise of protest, grabbing at my arms to pull me back up. "Ash," he said desperately, his eyes pleading.

I glided my hands around his denim-clad hips, nipped at his thighs with my teeth. "It's okay," I assured him. "This is one of the best things, I promise."

He nodded a feeble assent and his fingers moved unsteadily through my hair. I unbuttoned his jeans and slid them slowly down his legs. My heartbeat sped in anticipation. His cock was hard – more than willing – and I guided it carefully into my mouth.

Eiji moaned.

The sound made me want to cry. I had no idea how amazing it could be, doing this with someone I loved. I caressed him with my lips and tongue, using every trick I learned to bring him to the brink without actually coming. His knees gave out slowly and before long he was leaning his full weight on the wall, barely able to stand up. I'd seen that reaction before, but I took more pride and pleasure in the fact that it was Eiji that I was making feel so good. I lavished him with attention until he begged me both to stop and to never stop.

Only then did I grant him his deliverance, catching his shuddering release in my mouth and swallowing every drop of the hot, bitter stuff. He cried out. He grabbed my hair. His voice choked on my name. His legs wobbled and collapsed; he slid down the wall, scraping his back on the exposed brick.

Happy but not yet satisfied, I caught him up in my arms and kissed him hard on the mouth. His tongue attacked mine, his mouth hungry and devouring. "I want to be inside you," I growled between kisses. "I need." Suddenly his hand was in my jeans, his fingers wrapped around my erection and I pressed my mouth onto his to keep back the groan of pleasure. "To fuck you," I insisted, biting his lips and chin.

Eiji nodded, his eyes limpid and trusting. I had the feeling he'd let me do anything I wanted just then. I pushed my index finger into my mouth, getting it as sloppy and wet as I could manage. Eiji's eyes widened, and he reached up to grab my hand. With an almost coy smile, he pulled it to his mouth, sucking the finger between his soft lips and wrapping his tongue around it until I was sure I'd explode with tension.

When he finally released my finger, it was sopping wet and ready. I slowly pushed it into him. He looked shocked, almost panicked. "W – wait! Ash!"

"Relax," I whispered, dropping feather-light kisses all over his face. "Just let your body relax – it will feel good soon." I began to move, gently getting him ready for more. Eiji exhaled violently; his dark eyes drooped closed. His face was a collage of expressions – fear, embarrassment, pleasure – every one beautiful and perfect. With my other hand I fumbled with my jeans, wiggling out of them as gracefully as I could manage without taking any of my attention away from Eiji.

I slid a second finger inside him and his hips bucked toward me. He weakly asked for more, his voice little more than a whimper. I wished I had some kind of lubricant. My eyes scanned the darkroom, hoping to find something acceptable, but the closet was full of dangerous chemicals – nothing even remotely safe. I spit in my hand, using that to wet down my cock. Not the best solution, but better than nothing. I breathed deeply, making myself slow down. I knew just how much this hurt when your parter wasn't careful.

At first he tensed up, resisting me. "Eiji," I cajoled softly, leaning down to kiss his swollen mouth. "Eiji relax. Let me. I don't want to hurt you." I kissed his throat and chest, teasing his nipples with my fingers until he was writhing beneath me, happy again.

I pushed. "Ah!" he cried, grabbing my back and burying his face in my neck. His breathing was ragged, panicked. It scared me just a little to know that I could be the one to cause that. I forced myself to be still, to wait until he adjusted to me.

"Is this okay?" I asked after a bit, my voice strained with the effort of control.

Eiji looked at me. His eyes were bright even in the dimness of the red light. "I love you," he whispered, pushing my sweaty hair from my face. "Always, I will love you."

I already knew it, but hearing it said out loud was so much different from just knowing.

I started to move. Eiji gasped and shuddered, then moved his hips up to meet mine. A hesitant smile fluttered across his face. "It is good," he breathed. "You are so warm, so heavy."

Once I was sure he was enjoying it, I picked up the pace, eager for my own fulfillment. I heard a moan escape my lips; he was so tight, so hot. My hands clenched in the sheet beneath us, my knuckles pressing hard on the concrete floor. I wanted to grab his hair, to take him violently, but I knew it was way too soon for that kind of thing. I made myself slow down.

"I've wanted this," I said against his chest, my tongue darting out to taste the beaded sweat on his sternum, "for so long, Eiji."

His hands skimmed down my back to cup my backside; his nails cut almost painfully into my flesh. He urged me closer, pushing his hips up and wrapping his legs around me. "I didn't know what I wanted," Eiji murmured near my ear. "Except that I wanted you."

I held on for just a moment longer and then I was lost, shuddering and gasping. My voice was torn from me, a cry I'd never heard before. Eiji's hands were warm on my back, cradling me even as I came. I collapsed, my sweaty flesh pressed completely against his.

It seemed like my heartbeat wouldn't slow, even when I breathed deeply and tried to calm down. I rolled off of Eiji and pulled him close to me. The floor was cold on our fevered skin, and the smells of shampoo and developing solution slowly overrode the heady scent of sex.

"We are okay?" Eiji asked, his voice hesitant. "This will not change things between us?"

I thought about it. Would our being lovers really change things for us? Would I pay him more heed, think of him more often? No. He was already the first person I thought about in any situation, the one I ached to come home to at the end of the day. We already belonged to each other, long before that day. "No," I told him after a bit. "You might find me crawling into your bed at night instead of mine, but otherwise, nothing changes."

He nuzzled against me. "Good. I was getting tired of sleeping alone."

He sounded so self-satisfied, so smug, that I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it. He looked at me for one bewildered second before joining in. Everything felt good right then.

Then Eiji kissed me, sliding his hands down my chest at the same time. My body reacted; the laughter died in my throat. "We can do this again, yes?" he asked, lowering his lashes coyly. I was flabbergasted. So he had a good appetite. I thanked god I was still young.

A knock on the door stopped us before we could even begin.

"Um, Eiji? This is Alex. Have you seen Ash? He was supposed to meet us here tonight." The doorknob rattled. Even though everyone knew better than to randomly open the door to a darkroom, it looked like Alex might.

Eiji scrambled into a sitting position, curling the sheet over both of our laps, as though this small token of modesty would matter if Alex walked straight in. "Do not open the door!" he cried. "We are developing photographs right now!"

There was a bit of a shuffle as Alex let go of the knob. "Is Ash in there with you?"

"I'm here," I said. There wasn't any other way out of the room, and Alex and the guys would be sure to figure it out if I tried to lie. I pulled on my jeans, using my most authoritative voice for my lieutenant. "We can't come out for a few minutes, because of the pictures, so why don't you start things off without me?"

Eiji was giggling. He had his hand clamped over his mouth, muffling the sound, but I had to work hard to keep from catching his eye. If I looked at him, I was sure that I'd start laughing, too.

"Sure thing, boss," Alex said briskly. I could hear the sound of his feet shuffling on the carpet as he walked away.

Eiji laughed out loud, picking up his blue jeans and yanking them over his legs. "That was close," he said.

I grinned back, but inside I was edgy. It was almost too close. I was pretty sure that my gang had already made up their minds about Eiji and me, so it wasn't like proof of the fact would shock anyone, but I wasn't ready to share this yet. This was between me and Eiji and it wasn't anyone else's business at all – the fact that we were almost exposed in the same moment that we discovered each other made me nervous.

I stood behind Eiji and put my arms around him. He leaned back against me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was. "I guess I have to go meet them," I said gruffly, not wanting to walk away.

He turned his head, dropping a kiss on my bicep. "And I should do something with that," he commented, nodding at the forgotten camera on its tripod. It wasn't flashing anymore – sometime pretty early on I forgot all about it.

"How much do you think it got?" I asked, feeling a flush wash over my face.

Eiji smirked. "The whole roll was used up," he said. "But the camera could not see us on the floor."

I turned him around in my arms, pressing him against my chest. His arms came around my waist, holding on tightly. I felt his heartbeat against mine, his breath hot and moist on my skin. "I want to see them all," I told him in a low voice. Even the pictures of the blank wall – I wanted to look at that and know exactly what we were doing when that flash went off. I considered putting a picture like that in my wallet; it would be that much more special for being our secret.

He fidgeted in my arms, cringing as though trying to make himself smaller. "It is a lot of wasted film," he said in a tiny voice.

"Wasted?" I looked down at him and saw that he was embarrassed. I kissed him softly. "They'll all be perfect."

Eventually I went out to Alex and my war council. Eiji stayed in the darkroom for a few hours, apparently hard at work.

The next day I woke up to find photographs on the nightstand between our beds. They were black and white, cut in a long strip of three, just like the photo booth pictures that the guys showed me. In the first picture we looked uncomfortable. In the second we were kissing. And the third was of a blank brick wall, the sheet fluttering to the ground near the bottom of the shot. It was my favorite.

I glanced at Eiji's bed, where he was curled up and fast asleep. He came to bed so late, I wondered why he didn't just climb in with me. It was a mistake easily remedied. I tucked the strip of pictures into the drawer and slid out of bed. I climbed into his and wrapped my arms around him, ready to make a whole new batch of memories.


End file.
